


Public Exhibition

by maximum_overboner



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: DFAB reader, Exhibitionism, Extremely Public Sex, F/M, Praise, Rough Sex, Voyeurism, absolute smut, alcohol use, degredation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 11:02:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8141483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maximum_overboner/pseuds/maximum_overboner
Summary: You and Sans visit Grillby's new bar on the surface together, and after more than a few drinks, anything can seem like a good idea. In which you and Sans brutally fuck in front of a bar full of horny people.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i did a fic giveaway on tumblr, and this was the desired premise! i hope you can dig it too! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ
> 
> thank you, pyreo, for proofreading this!

 

“so,” he slurred, firm hands clattering against the table of the booth, tucked away in the corner, easy to see out of, but not into, the dim lighting lending a thin wall of privacy. “what’re you gettin’? the choice is booze, or--”

“Or?”

“booze. is the other choice.”

You hummed in contemplation, your cheeks ruddy and your head warm.

“Booze.”

“thatta g’rl.”

He slid out, worn sneakers pattering against the veneer of the floor, before he returned ten minutes later with two shots. One glass full, one glass empty.

He handed you the empty one, and settled back into the booth, his legs swinging and not hitting the floor, thudding dully against the chair. You gave him a withering look, and he folded.

“ah fine.”

He handed you your shot, and you downed it in one, grimacing at the acerbic taste as it lingered on your palate, before you felt the rush of warmth, and relaxed in your chair with a sigh, chest heaving. You saw him stare, watching the even rise and fall of your breasts.

You coughed, to tease him, and he startled.

Laughing, and gently mocking, you felt it best to keep the conversation going, now that he had been caught. Speech did not come easy, however.

“How do you know the owner?”

“what, grillby? he used to run the bar in my town. the food was killer. if i had a heart, i would have been fucked. i woulda been, like, four cardiac arrests deep. every day my bro would be like ‘oh sans, chilli fries are not a vegetable’, but i think he was missing out.”

“Which one is Grillby?”

“the dude on fire.”

“Oh.”

“yeah, i think when you have a kid, and it’s on fire, you only get a small pool of names to pick. ‘grillby’, or ‘heats’, or ‘fireguy blastcrotch.’”

Leaning into him, shoulder to shoulder, you swung your arm around him in mock-sincerity, feeling the heat of his body against yours. “Have you ever met a Fireguy Blastcrotch.”

“nah,” he shrugged.

A comfortable silence fell between you, with the low chatter, with its soothing dips and lulls, that would reach their apex in laughter and fall away, of the patrons to fill it.

“when he nuts,” Sans said, in earnest contemplation, his demeanor that of an exceptionally drunk scientist, “d’you think he nuts fire?”

“You would be more equipped to answer that than I am.”

“i ask him all the time,” he said wistfully, “and not once has he told me.”

You exchanged a glance, a heavy one, both of you swept up in mirth, and easy lust.

“It’s been happy hour for… About four hours now.”

“yeah.”

“Isn’t that a little off? Shouldn’t happy hour be one hour?”

“nah. every hour is happy hour if you’re stoked. better than ‘the abject misery hour’. where drinks are double. and there’s some dude that follows you around and whispers to you about your insecurities. i’m down for this ‘cheap drinks, hot girlfriend’ scenario.”

That was the most romantic thing he had ever said to you. Truly, you were touched. On the other hand, he was also squeezing your ass and letting out a low, long grunt, so it could have just been that. He kept his hand there, groping and pawing, rolling the soft flesh between his fingers. You saw his pants twitch, but played along, as if totally ignorant.

“‘s… i dunno what’s even in this those things,” he slurred.

“A tequila slammer?”

“yeah.”

“You don’t know,” you drawled back, “what’s in a tequila slammer?”

“no such thing as stupid questions.”

“First clue... Tequila.”

“alright. alright. so the other half is… slammer.” he chucked, with an easy, lopsided grin, that came easier when he was drunk. “move the fuck over Duvet--”

“Da Vinci.”

“-- this is-- this is the real mystery right here. what is the slammer half?”

Soda.

“It’s--”

“it’s you,” he wheezed, groping harder at you, “when we get outta here. ‘cause you’re-- we’re gonna fuck.”

Smooth as ever. The alcohol had dulled his considerable wit, but you could not talk either, and you would take what you could get. The flush in his face and the low darkness of his eyes, leering and smouldering as best he could, enticed you.

You breath quickened, and you pressed yourself to his side, until your arms were lazily hooked around his shoulders, and his bare teeth millimeters from your lips.

“whaddya say we ditch this dump.”

“That’s unfair. This is a nice place.”

“yeah, but, ‘whaddya say we ditch this kinda-upmarket-but-not-really-he’s-just-gotta-pull-in-tourists bar’ doesn’t have the same oomph. but ‘whaddya say we ditch this dump’, now that’s a statement. so’s ‘i’m gonna fuck you raw’, but, uh… don’t want you to get too excited, we got a cab ride--”

You cupped his rock hard cock, and felt him jolt. The low murmur of the crowd around you persisted, having not clued into your intentions yet. Slowly, and firmly, and with no shame, you traced the girth of his fat cock over his sweatpants, jerking him off with two fingers. Just enough to tease.

“h-- we-- we’re gonna be seen--”

“Good.”

“yeah, good one-- hrk!”

You squeezed his dick, bringing your mouth to rest at the side of his face.  

“I’m not joking.”

You saw a glint in Sans’ eye, backed with a smug grin. He still didn’t believe you.

“so, i’m really that irresistible, eh? heh, when i get you home--”

Up, and down. Two fingers. No increasing the pace. No relenting. You felt his foreskin shift under the fabric, slowly back and forth. Then all at once, you started jerking him off in earnest through the fabric, in your own little bubble of privacy.

“you’re… you’re really goin’ for gold with the teasing, heh. not even teasing at this point, it’s like you’re tryin’ to--”

He stared at you, eyes lidded, chest heaving, and the smell of precum hit you. His grin, constant and easy, became lecherous, and you felt him raise his hips, still within the seclusion of the booth. It clicked.  

“jerkin’ me off, in a crowded bar? you’re a real kinky chick. i’m down--”

You moved swiftly,  pushing him into the corner of the booth, then, swooping up and onto his lap, legs pinning either side of his pelvis as you ground your wet panties into the bulk of his cock, layers of fabric teasing him as he recoiled. His hands, shaky and eager, found your hips, and he guided you. This was the most secluded place you could get, as out of view as you could be while still risking it in the bar.

“whoa, are you--”

You worked your cunt against the fabric shamelessly, delighting in his still stunned reaction, arms pinned to his side as you rode him. A conversation about work petered out near you, and though you weren’t sure, the coughing and the stuttered “o-oh my God,” clued you into the fact that you had been spotted. You paused, waited for someone to blare at you to leave, this was a civilized establishment, but the boom never came. It was just the “oh my God,” and the silence that followed.

Sans was frozen under you, having clued into what was going on.

“grillby is gonna be so pissed--”

You shushed him, looking around, and you made eye contact with a lone Monster in a nearby booth, hulking and flushed, his friends still chatting away with no care. Slowly, as he prodded them, then motioned to you both with a head movement, their conversation died away completely, until it was you, Sans, and four curious strangers in a crowd that hadn’t noticed you yet.

“Are… Are they--?”

“I think they’re fucking--”

“Is this a surface t-thing--?”

“Oh my God, oh my God…”

You looked them all square in the eye, shot them a wink, and started riding Sans like there was no tomorrow, bracing with your legs and rutting your hips.

“you’re still--!”

You heard the group stutter out disbelieving breaths, before turning to each other.

“H-Holy shit!”

“I can’t b-believe--”

Slowly, others turned, like a wave spreading out. It was another set of eyes, then another, nudging and gesturing and gasping. Slowly, the wave of curiosity, and then awareness, spread, until it was totally silent.

You were left at a crossroads.

“Sans,” you panted, firmly drawing your slit back and forth, making him hiccup through his grit teeth, his dick now fully hard and spurting wet precum through his shorts. “Do you want to do something really dumb?”

“you’re askin’ that--” he gasped, cutting himself off with a long, throaty groan, the leather of the booth chairs squeaking against your ruts, as you moved faster and faster, your swollen cunt moving hypnotically against him, “-- as if i don’t do dumb shit all the time.”

The atmosphere of the bar, you noticed, changed considerably. The conversation petered out, until it was you, Sans, and an entire silent bar of people watching. You were probably going to get thrown out, but it would make a good story, a good memory to call upon when you fucked each other, a good ‘ah, what if we could have gotten away with that one?’

“Touche”, you rasped, breaking all illusions, peeling off your top in one clumsy, eager move, grinding your hips down on his until he bucked to meet your touches. His hands squeezed your breasts until they hurt, wonderfully, you would count the bruises in the morning while you fucked yourself thinking about this. He drove his face to your neck, passionate, intimate, a very private thing exposed for everyone to see. He dragged his teeth along it, as if you were having a quickie during an ad break, as if he was fucking you into the mattress, as if the crowd weren’t there at all.

Hamming it up for the crowd, you craned your neck back, still rutting against him, slowly soaking the fabric of your underwear, of your skirt. You could feel the shape of his hard cock in between the folds of your slit, every curve, every dip, every trickle of precum that slicked your movements.

“ _Sans_ ”, you groaned, and you knew that always got him going.

He crammed his face to yours in the closest approximation of a kiss you two could ever manage together, tongues running and lapping at the others mouths, and his eyes scrunched shut in arousal.

“if we’re doin’ it,” he breathed, “we’re doin’ it. right here, right now, i’m down till we get kicked out.”

You grinned, sliding off of him and discarding the rest of your clothing, peeling off your skirt, your sodden underwear, your shoes, until you were naked in front of eager strangers, all surveying the curves of your body with rapt attention.

Some, you had noticed, had let their hands drift south. Tentatively, the act could be compromised at any moment by a stern word from Grillby, the staff, anyone walking in. But a Monster woman, burly, at the other end of the bar, was working thin, tight circles down the front of her jeans. You heard the sound of a zipper, and then another, as the crowd found themselves, clueing in to what they were about to see, about what they should make the most of.

You got on the floor, hands braced to the ground, legs just parted enough to let Sans see your dripping cunt, facing the throng directly. You heard Sans’ voice from behind, and it made you quiver as you felt his cockhead prise at your folds, felt the fabric of his hastily moved sweatpants bunch at your ass, which he clawed at desperately.  

“oh, rad,” he said simply, with candor, “now you get to look ‘em all in the eye while i wreck you.”

He crammed himself in you to the hilt, his fat, girthy cock gliding in with ease as he croaked out an “ahh,” the force jostling you, eyes wide and mouth agape. You pushed yourself back as best you could, feeling so full, feeling every single twitch and bump of his length as he slowly withdrew it, before slipping it in again with a wet, loud slap as his hips hit the fat of your ass.

Sans exhaled shakily, rearing his head while he fell into a steady rhythm, taking on some work as part of the show. Usually he just lay back and took whatever you threw at him, but this was a special occasion.

In.

You moaned, bobbing your hips backwards to meet him, aware of the rhythm he usually took to, like a dance you had both practiced again and a gain. No words needed to be exchanged, you just needed to revel in the open intimacy of the occasion. Of all eyes on you, Sans’ included.

Out.

And with a gasp, he withdrew, pressing his body tightly over yours, hands scrabbling to find purchase. His zipper dug painfully into the small of your back, but you were too far gone to call attention to it, not wanting to sacrifice the precarious balance that the place was striking, the liminal cusp that could be fractured at any moment if someone realised that yes, this was happening. You heard a voice peep from the crowd, to your left, deep and male.

“G-grab her tits.”

Sans slowed down, thrown off, before resuming his pace and squeezing your soft breasts, shuddering as his hips mechanically drove into you. The act was emboldening, as you soon heard another voice, dulcet and feminine, ragged at the edges.

“Faster.”

He complied, though you knew he wouldn’t be able to maintain his breakneck pace, his stamina was not good, though you appreciated his efforts. Moreso, you appreciated the feeling of being pounded, of being fucked like this was the last time he would ever have the chance. He was huffing near your ear, thrusting, and primal, and deep, God, he was hitting so deep inside you.

Someone else chimed in, voice shaking, panting.

“H-harder.”

Little grunts, little indistinct half slurs as his heated dick twitched, that never quite made their way to words.

“ _i’m-- f-fuckin’-- g-god you’re so-- f-fuck--_ ”

You looked to the crowd, eyes clouded with lust. You saw pumping cocks and writhing women, visceral, pulsing flesh, for you, over you, for you. You heard more commands.

“Make her cum.”

“Fuck her like a whore.”

Sans chuckled, low and sweet, until it slid into a growl, syncopated and clipped, that reverberated against your back as your knees scraped against the polished wood of the bar.

“Part your legs a little, I wanna see.”

Sans shrugged, and did, no skin off of his back, letting the man see his cock pulse in and out of you, every spasm making you writhe underneath him. Sans straightened himself, removing his hands from you to thrust casually while he addressed the crush, as if telling an old joke on stage, bobbing his hips as the friction in your cunt built and built, you were close, people were cumming to the thought of you, strangers, whom you would never see again, rutting and pulsing and cumming--

“ain’t she pretty?”

You heard grunts of affirmation from the crowd, and you would be lying if you said it didn’t push you that little bit closer.

“Fuck, look at them--”

“His dick--”

“I’m-- I’m cumming--”

Sans hunched over you again, feeling your walls pull against his throbbing, thick shaft, and you felt the quickly cooling precum slide out of you as his voice rose in pitch and timbre.

“i’m gonna cum in you,” he panted, and you smelled the alcohol on his breath, felt it harry your movements. It was becoming more and more difficult to support your weight on your arms. “in front of everyone.”

He redoubled his efforts, stabbing you viciously with the length of his cock, until you cried out loudly in ecstasy, the noise reverberating in the space of the bar, broken with weak little moans, and familiar wet slaps from the crowd, growing in volume as you watched men and women fuck themselves violently to you.

“ _i can’t-- i can’t hold off-- ‘m just--_ ”

You clenched around him and he, to your surprise, cried out in that deep drawl of his, crackling under the strain of his movements.

“ _\--t-tight--_ ”

You came. You came hard.

Your vision swam and your body spasmed as you were consumed, waves rocking you to your very core as you shook, voice warbling until you couldn’t think, you couldn’t speak, you couldn’t even move, you could only kneel there, ass presented, while he reached his own peak with staccato thrusts.

You saw someone cum in front of you, surrounded by those that were already spent, pants around their ankles, some leaning back on tables to aid themselves as they stared at you. Slick seats, and ropey streams of cum.

“ _\--cummin’--_ ”

You felt Sans’ white-hot spunk flood your insides, instinctively grasping at him to milk every last drop while he went totally rigid, still in disbelief, caught up in the once in a lifetime chance.

“ _fuck-- f-fuck-- fuck-- fuck!_ ”

You pushed yourself backwards as best you could, vision darkening under the pleasure. Your orgasm had only just began to abate, and tears were streaming down your face.

“ _\--l-look ‘em all in-- in the eye--_ ”

You did, as best you could. You met the lustful gaze of the crowd in a flurry of eye movements, and were met with appreciation, of admiration, of a whole room of Humans and Monsters content with being voyeurs, though they wanted to take Sans’ place. Shuffling arms. Fresh sweat. Scrunched eyes, and bucking hips, and the noise, God, the noise.

Sans finally collapsed on you, totally spent, while you saw the bulk of the throng finish up, staring at everywhere they could; your exposed flesh, your soft, bouncing breasts, your leaking slit. Ravenous, covetous glares.

Sans was at your ear, sweating, panting, pressed flushed to you.

“thanks for that. i gotta find somethin’ out, though.”

… Wait, what?

Sans slipped out of you quickly, standing to his full height to look at the bar area before pulling up his pants with graceless speed.

“yo, turns out grillby does nut fire. wonder how he jerks off without burnin’-- oh geeze he’s startin’ to look mad.”

Still shaking, you set about gathering your clothes, as the crowd became sheepish. “We should hurry up.”

“hold on, maybe i can talk him d-- he’s rollin’ up his sleeves, we gotta skedaddle.”


End file.
